Mozart Moments
by CSIBuckeye
Summary: Written for the I Love the 80's Ficathon at Geekfiction. Sara and a friend try to help Grissom relax


Title: Mozart Moments

Author: CSIBuckeye

Rating: Mild M

Pairing: GSR

Prompt: 80's Music

Spoilers: Through Season 8

Disclaimer: I don't own CSI or any of these wonderful characters. I borrow them for fun only, no money crossed palms.

Notes: As always, I am indebted to daphne dangerlove for being not only a kick ass beta, but a great friend. Many thanks D!

Being a child of the 80's I knew I had to pick music for my prompt, and this song popped immediately to my mind. I absolutely loved this song when it came out, and I had a blast incorporating it into a story. Hope you all enjoy it.

She hesitated, half in and half out of the doorway, key still in the lock, as a soft melody floated out into the heat of the late morning. Straining to identify the music, she finally caught a familiar passage. Mozart? Again?

Closing the townhouse door softly behind her, she leaned back against it as she cocked her head to the side. Piano. Well that figured. The concertos were great for meditation and Grissom favored Mozart's piano pieces to help him shed the stress of the work day. Considering what she'd overheard earlier, it all made perfect sense, but perhaps Mr. Mozart was in need of some assistance.

She made her way in the direction of the music, her footsteps muffled by the hallway carpeting. His office was dark but she could make out his silhouette in the dusty rays of light that peeked around the window blinds. He was reclined in his desk chair, his back to the door and even though she couldn't see his face, she knew his eyes were closed. She studied him for a minute, unable to keep the smile from her face. It was still amazing to her, how well she'd come to know him, how much he'd let her see.

Easing up behind him, she wasn't surprised when he greeted her softly, just before she lifted her hands to his shoulders. He was as in tune with her as she was with him, the harmony that flowed between them evident from the very first moment they met.

She leaned down and placed a gentle kiss along his neck, inhaling his scent even as she began to lightly knead his shoulders. Running her hands over his skin never failed to delight her, she considered it both a privilege, and the hard won spoil of a very long battle. And even though she'd shared his bed for the last two years, she still found that the feel of his body under her hands, even if it started innocently, was enough to make her wet.

"Should you be doing that with your arm?" He tried to keep the concern in his voice to a minimum, knowing how tired she was of being watched over by everyone.

"I'll have you know my Occupational Therapist just told me that my left arm is stronger than my right. Besides," she said, working the taut band of muscle along the side of his neck, "I just want to help you relax." She could feel the warmth of her hands having the desired effect on his tension while she tried in vain to ignore the heat that coursed through her own body at his nearness.

A contented moan slipped from his lips as he gave himself completely to the feel of her touch. He relished all the different ways her hands spoke to him. A touch on the arm to let him know she was there for him, her hand slipping into his to tell him she was exactly where she wanted to be, a tender stroke along his jaw to say I love you. And with each touch, he fell just a little bit deeper in love. "How do you know I need help relaxing?"

"Mozart."

He turned in his chair and glanced up at her, eyebrows raised, "Mozart told you?"

She grinned down at him, "Yes, yes he did. I overheard him in your office earlier, a flute concerto I believe. And now I find you two together in your darkened office after work. When you're sneaking off with Mozart it usually means there's a case bothering you."

His mouth opened slightly in stunned surprise but quickly morphed into a crooked grin, "I had no idea Mozart had so much to say. What else did he tell you?"

Sliding her hands around to the other shoulder; she gently turned him back around in his chair and ran her thumbs along the fibers of tissue on that side, a mischievous smile lingering on her face. "He talks about himself most of the time."

"Do tell." His eyes closed again as he concentrated on the wonderful things she was doing to him. The sound of her slightly husky voice was a beautiful addition to the music that enveloped him, and he felt himself slide deeper into a state of contentment.

Sara slid her fingers slowly down his arms and along his sides until she reached the hem of his tee shirt. Lifting his arms up, she pulled the shirt off over his head and tossed it on the desk as she let her fingertips tickle down his spine. The urge to follow the same path with her tongue was so strong she could almost taste the slight saltiness of his skin under her lips. What was she saying? Right...dead composers. "He was born Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart in Salzburg, January 27, 1756."

"He contracted smallpox as a young boy during a trip to Vienna with his father," he said, feeling his skin ripple under her teasing touch. Picturing the smile that would bloom over her face at this response, brought a smile to his own. He knew she enjoyed the power she held over his body and his heart, but truth be told, she couldn't possibly enjoy it any more than he loved surrendering it to her.

She encouraged him to lean forward, giving her unfettered access to his entire back as she went on. "He didn't mention that, but he did say he began composing at age 5 and wrote his first piano concerto at 17." Following a trail from the base of his neck to the dimples in his low back, she worked in small circles on either side of his spine. Circles about the same size as the ones he liked to trace around her nipples with his tongue right before he drew them into his mouth. Sucking in a deep breath she realized that the thought alone had been enough to send a surge of longing all the way through her body.

"And ultimately he was responsible for over six hundred compositions." He could actually feel the tension of the day melting from his body. This combination of the intellectual and the physical was what made their relationship so different, and so perfect. He had no idea what he would have done on a day like this before Sara was part of his life, he didn't want to remember.

"He married Constanze Weber when he was 26 and he died at 35." Using the heels of her palms she worked up his back and out to his shoulder blades, employing a distinctly less therapeutic type of touch as she worked away from the spine, dragging her fingernails lightly over his sides.

"He was actually in love with Constanze's older sister Aloysia first, but she rebuked him for an actor." His voice was muffled by his forearms as he rested his head on the desk and he wondered if she could sense the yearning beneath his words. The twinges of the stress headache that had been the reason behind the music and the darkened room were completely gone, as were any thoughts of the case he'd been working. In fact the only thought currently occupying his brain was…here or the bedroom?

"Well he certainly accomplished just a little more than I've managed in my 35 years." She worked her fingertips from the base of his skull, up around his ears to his temples, smiling as he sighed his appreciation.

"Oh, I don't know, you've accomplished the impossible already…you helped me realize that some risks are worth taking…no matter the cost," his voice broke and he swallowed away the fear that rose up along with that line of thinking. "You helped me see what was truly important in my life."

"Mozart?" She pressed her lips together, her attempt to lighten the moment not quite able to hide the emotion behind her eyes.

"You," he said with feigned exasperation as he spun his chair around and pulled her onto his lap. "And you never cease to surprise me. I had no idea you were such a Mozart fan."

"Oh, I'm not really," she said wrapping her arms around his neck, "I'm a Falco fan."

"A…a what?"

"Falco? Rock Me Amadeus?" Her smile grew with his confusion.

"I have never heard of him," he said with genuine surprise.

"I'll download it for you," she said, her fingers winding through his short curls.

"Sometimes that age difference is really glaring isn't it?" He averted his eyes, hoping he could hide the hint of embarrassment that crept up with his blush.

"Hey," she whispered as she gently hooked her fingers under his chin and brought his face around to hers. Leaning into him she locked her eyes on his, needing him to see that none of that mattered to her, it never had. She brushed her lips softly against his, once…twice, before she saw the understanding pass over his face in his most boyish smile. Bringing her mouth back to his a little more forcefully, she traced her tongue lightly along his bottom lip, still feeling the hint of his smile beneath her kiss.

He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her waist as their tongues danced over each other and desire flared again. Bringing his hand up behind her head, he brought her closer still as he let his mouth trail down her neck to nip at the sensitive skin of her shoulder. And as her moan reverberated through him, all the nagging doubts that still surfaced from time to time were forgotten. He was the one…the one who made her moan and made her laugh, the one who held her when she cried, the one she'd found the strength to come home to. He was the one she wanted.

She pushed away from him slightly to rest her forehead on his, her breathing fast and ragged. His usual bright blue eyes were dark with a need she knew was mirrored in her own, just as she knew the love and desire that coursed through her body also ran thick in his veins. "Gris…what age difference?"


End file.
